Where the roses grow (part one) 

She woke up on the morning of that Thursday with a chest doing 200 miles per hour. A pillow drowning in sweat and a mouth that still had rivulets of fear running down it’s corners.

He had come again.

She pulled back her window blinds. Outside there was nothing but what should be outside 5:30 on a Thursday morning. Sleepwalking commuters scheming to beat the morning traffic. Worshippers whose devoutness had won over their fleshly weakness trudging to the house of God. Groggy men limping gratefully home at the end of their night shift. A darkness outside that had not fully lifted. A morning shyly coming of age. It was all very normal. So normal it mocked her apprehensions. Her memories from sleep. Or was it sleep?

The question was pondered,then discarded.Unanswered. Instead a strange relief began to course over her. It started from her head. A deep sigh. Then descended down all over her working it’s magic. It slowed down her racing chest to a more rational speed.Loosened the tight knots of her intestines. Steadied her legs. Slowed her breathing. Then somehow in a deep far away place in her head she knew the answer to the now forgotten question. It was all dream. A silly dream.

Her new found relaxation restored her ability to think. Then it started flooding back like an avalanche. Her frenzied groans. Her blind panic.His eerily sedate face. It all came back. The events of the dream from last night. The glaring intensity of the return of memory,the realness of it all…it yanked the discarded question up from it’s forgotten place and brandished it rawly in her consciousness. Was it a dream? Was it real? How real?

A probing hand went to her neck. She thought she felt evidence of the suffering of strangulation. A bruised coarseness. But she wasn’t sure. As she tried to decide,her sophisticated mind started to upbraid her. Don’t be stupid. Agirl of your education scared out of her wits by a silly dream. How are you better than the simpletons who blow fortunes on phony fortune tellers? Then her primal mind wimpered, it felt so real. Her sophisticated mind spoke up with a derisive confidence, Haha warding off imaginary evils now are we,what to do next? Drown in a million bottles of olive oil? Light charmed smokes? Or a talisman perhaps? Her primal mind pleaded it case wordlessly preffering to remind her of the mad panic from sleep…her frustration..the chill that was even now not fully gone. Her sophisticated mind was more mocking now. Ah ah what to do..what to do ,we are going down. Woe woe help help. It even did a little taunting jiggle to mock her primal mind which still continued to shake with fear. The mental argument raged back and forth. Driving her to madness. She let out an arrrrrrggggghhhhhh to quiet them both and decided to see a psychiatrist.

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